Our Love Was But a Sham
by drosier
Summary: Complete! Chaos ensues when Sam is forced to live a life without ham. SamxHam - Sham! Slight Sam/Gibby. Sometimes the thing you think you love the most can swallow you whole, leaving nothing but bones picked clean.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes:** This started out as a oneshot and became this unruly thing that I will be posting in about three or four parts. And I haven't forgotten about _Ties_ or my _Drake & Josh_ fic in case anyone cares.

Again, Laura is Sam's mother.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own_ iCarly_, and I certainly don't own ham.

For the record, I don't even like ham.

**Our Love Was But a Sham**

For_ eumonigy_, because she told me to go to sleep, so naturally, I write fic. (I'm thinking of retracting that dedication now though, you know? You _shot me_ last night.)

* * *

**i.**

"Samantha Madison Puckett, if you don't get out of there right now –"

Sam scoffed. Like she'd really see discipline from Laura. "Just hold on a second, _will ya_?" she shouted back.

The door rattled loudly, shaking on its hinges. "You've been in that bathroom for _over an hour, _Sammy. I know you're not fixing yourself up in there, now get _out_."

Sam looked down into her lap. The ham sat there on a platter, its jaggedly-cut, pink edges bright against crinkled tinfoil that looked like hundreds of tiny, crumpled stars.

"I wasn't feeling well after dinner, alright?" she yelled truthfully, and then added: "God mom, do you gotta know _everything_?" for the sake of irony. Laura really knew nothing about her.

"Well, I need you to hurry it up," Laura said, and this time her voice carried from farther away. "I need a few things in there, and you've been holding me up for the past hour."

Sam rolled her eyes at the ham – those chums at the petting zoo'd said pigs were intelligent creatures; it'd be in perfect understanding – before putting the remains over the bathroom sink. She reached for a purple towel tucked away on a shelf, grabbing for her appreciation of how ridiculous and incongruous the ham appeared in the bathroom all the while.

If Laura saw it, she'd use it as an excuse to look like she had wasting disease and stay in bed all week while wearing a bikini and grumbling about how the only place where ham should be located near a scale was in a butcher's shop.

_Whatever._ It wasn't like Sam brought ham into the bathroom so it could spend quality time with the bath salts.

Her room was just sadly lacking a lock, due to Laura's almost irrational fear of Sam hiding explosives in the house. So really, there was nowhere that the ham was going to get to spend quality time with her face without Laura screaming at her about her 'no snacks between meals' rule.

The top drawer below the sink was a shallow, long one, and a half-formed idea was all it took to make Sam wrench it open. It displayed only one thing, really, and that was about a hundred tubes of lipstick.

Shades of reds, corals, browns, and pinks quivered like running watercolors, and Sam ran her fingertips over the row of lightest colors until she touched one of pale pink. Laura wouldn't actually use it tonight, but that'd make it all the more better.

Her jagged kitchen knife winked roguishly in the overhead bathroom lights before Sam took it to the ham, carving out a perfectly cylindrical piece to match the shape of the lipstick.

That'd teach Laura to serve her _spam _for dinner.

When she left the bathroom, she had the ham tucked under the bright towel she had wrapped around head, because really, Laura would never notice there had been no running water. Now she stood at the end of the hall, her arms crossed like it was supposed to be an admonishment.

Sam smiled sarcastically. "All yours, sweet pea." Laura's red mouth pursed into a line like a fresh scar.

"You were trying my lipsticks," Laura said confidently and not at all displeased.

"What is it with you and those lipsticks?" Sam asked, miffed. She was _obsessed._ "You're obsessed."

"I just think you'd look nice all dolled up," Laura shrugged, looking more pleased by the instant. "If you want me to, I could help you –"

"Save it, mom," Sam said, putting up a hand. She turned on her heel, walking slowly down the hall and toward her room. "If I want to look like I got a bloodied lip, I'll just punch myself in the face."

The walls became duller and the lighting dimmer as she moved farther into the apartment; it was almost like getting sucked into a black hole. Somewhere near the light, Laura mumbled something about the cat. Then, "Alright," she said louder. "I'm not going to be home tonight - not until later on." It didn't matter. "Do you need a ride to the Shay's?"

Sam sighed as she grasped the doorknob. The brass was old and chipped away under her palm, making grooves like a grater, and she let her head fall forward until it hit the collage of bright posters over the door.

"Either that or I'll catch a ride with a rogue circus leader who'll take me away to be his dancing girl," Sam answered brightly.

She waited.

"Be ready in half an hour, Sammy." The click of the bathroom lock was sharp, carrying like a pinprick into her skull.

Sam turned the knob and pushed into her room, letting the pink walls swallow her like the inside of a great, gaping mouth.

oOo

"And…we are _clear_!" Freddie shouted, lowering his camera. He was beaming like a drunken garden gnome. "Great show, guys."

"'Cause _you_ weren't on camera," Sam intoned brightly. She watched his face fall until she was satisfied with the damage she'd inflicted. "Now if you kids don't mind, I need some ham."

Sam looked at Carly, an eyebrow raised in question as she swung her arms at her sides, measuring the meters, keeping the time it'd take for her to have the ham in her mouth.

Carly laughed. "You're lucky Spencer just bought some," she said. "If not, we'd probably have to check you into a clinic for ham withdrawals. One with _ham_ _IVs._"

Sam's vision blurred a bit as she let her mind mold itself around that vision of perfection. That is, before she started toward the stairs, and it was all business.

"No," Sam scoffed, then answered more cheerfully: "More like I'd be checked into prison for slaughtering you all." She got to the edge of the staircase and paused, hearing the steps behind her halt also. "Except Carly," she said before continuing in her steps.

"Aw," Carly sang.

Freddie made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat as the three of them made their way downstairs. "If you love ham so much, why don't you just marry it?" he asked, because Freddie was all swollen wit.

Sam let out a short, supremely un-amused laugh. "That's mature," she deadpanned. "But hey, if you love Carly so much, why don't you marry _her_?" The banister of the second floor staircase slid under her palm. "Oh, wait," she pouted sarcastically. "It's because Carly doesn't _want_ you."

"Can you guys please not discuss marriage so loudly?" Carly hissed in a frantic whisper. Her steps behind Sam were lighter, _bouncier._ "You know Spencer's upset because Clarice just dumped him." Sam jumped down off of the last step. "And I don't like you trying to give away my hand in marriage," Carly said as an afterthought.

Sam was going to throw a comment back at Carly, but her mind was held all too flimsily together by visions of tangled pink and cream strands of pork flesh flushing through the fissures of her brain, so she strode over to the refrigerator instead.

She almost forgot where she was – _almost_ - as her hand curled around the handle of the refrigerator and she pulled, but that was at the same moment the front door crashed open, and she heard a shout from behind.

"_Don't!_" Spencer screamed, and with that one irrational request streaming behind him, he lunged all the way to the refrigerator. Once he was there, he slammed the door closed.

Apparently after that big rumpus, all he could do was let out a sound like a dying moose, and Sam, Carly, and Freddie all gaped at the bent and heaving arch of his back.

Spencer hacked and sputtered, looking more wretched than The Little Engine Who Could in his old age. "Theresben arakel honsam," he said.

Ok. It would ok, as long as they could hide his insanity from Carly's granddad -

Spencer shot up then, shaking himself out like he was made of bags of Jell-o before he slumped against the refrigerator.

"Um…Spence?" Carly asked warily, moving forward. He was hers, after all.

"I just got back from the supermarket," Spencer breathed in response. He leaned his head back onto the refrigerator and looked down at them through hooded, haunted eyes. "There's been a recall on ham."

"_What_?" Carly and Sam said simultaneously, and Sam heard Carly's voice a lot closer than she would have thought.

"On _ham_?" Freddie asked incredulously, so for once, Sam was in agreement.

"There're fliers all down the meats section," Spencer breathed heavily, making a swooping gesture that almost caused a bad reaction with Carly's face. "Then I asked the butcher. _Boy,_ am I _out of shape_."

"What do you_ mean_ it was recalled?" Sam asked frantically. "What did he say? _Tell me you're lying_!" _This _was madness.

"There was something about bad feed," Spencer wheezed, full of as much information as the back of a cereal box. "Turn on the TV."

Sam lunged, and it only took an agonizing ten seconds of confused bustle to get the truth from a newscaster:

"…this fact, consumers are strongly advised to throw out their pork products or return them to their local supermarket for a full refund. This includes bacon, pork chops, pork rinds, sliced ham, spam, some variety of hot dogs, and bologna, among other things. Factory managers are being questioned, and the FDA deduces-"

The edges of everything went a bit fuzzy, and for a moment Sam couldn't tell if it was her about to lose consciousness or the TV reception being in sympathy with her, before she sensed Carly and Freddie _staring_ at her.

It was like being prodded in the face with electrodes. She needed something the sooth her, and that called for one thing. "I'm just gunna go to the refrigerator…have some ham now," Sam said dazedly.

"Sam, no. You heard the newscaster. You'll get some crazy ham disease!" Carly cried out as Freddie said, "Seriously, Sam. _Don't_ do it."

"No," Sam smiled, feeling too many of her teeth exposed. "No, ham's never hurt me."

Spencer was watching them from over by the refrigerator, and catching her gaze, he said, "I think you guys should go back up to your room." Every part of Sam trembled.

"What are you gunna do?" Sam asked stiffly.

"Come on, Sam," Carly urged. "Let's go back up to the studio. Freddie, maybe you should -"

Sam shook her head wildly, pointing accusatorily at Spencer. "No, no, no, no, _no_. Don't you hurt that ham. It never did anything to you!"

Spencer stared back, looking like a ham-threatening deer-in-the-headlights, and his hand twitched, turning some invisible switch that churned the tension in the room to chaotic.

Sam lunged.

Before she could get far, she felt Carly reach for her from behind, scrabbling at her arms, and Sam flailed and clawed and _reached_, as everything pounded down on her, her movement becoming more difficult when she saw Spencer wrench open the refrigerator and take out the platter of ham.

"Don't you dare!" Sam warned as he edged against the counters, the ham teetering nervously in his hands.

"Do it, Spencer," Carly called into Sam's ear. Her nails were digging into Sam's arms.

Spencer sidled over toward the door like he had something down his pants, clutching the ham so it laid against his chest. "I'm um. Just going to dispose of this...elsewhere," he said before scrambling to the front door.

"Spencer!" Sam screamed, and suddenly there was another pair of hands on her as she kicked and screamed. "Don't you – _let go of me_! Spencer, where are you going with that ham?"

Carly and a lump that was probably Freddie tore at her, and she couldn't see anything but hands and hair and a door closing. "Come on, Sam, it's for your own good," Carly panted. "_Ow, _that was_ my_ _eye_!"

"No!" Sam screamed, supremely unconcerned with the punctured eyes of _traitors_.

Freddie's mom rushed in then, holding a red aerosol can and hollering frantically about ticks as the three of them toppled to the floor. There was something sharp in her side and something bitter in her mouth as Freddie's mom sprayed whatever was in that bottle over them, and Sam kicked, and she pushed, and she got _nowhere_.

"You can't do this!" Sam hacked, moving her mouth against sharp drops of liquid that felt more like fire, though now she wasn't the only one who was shouting. She screamed louder. "I'll always eat ham! _You hear me?_ _Always!_"

oOo

The atmosphere was a heaving thing, its breath pounding against her like the rhythmic flow of ocean waves. She curled her hands around the hard plastic of her cafeteria tray, but they only recalled brittle, wide-splintering twigs trying to hold up a fortress.

It'd been three days.

Sam stared through a filter of pulsing steam pushing itself away from the mounds drained-looking vegetables. It reached out to her, scraping wispy, curling fingers against the clear plastic of the salad bar.

The light above seemed raw and blinding, and the harshness of it burned her eyes.

Nothing was uglier than this.

Someone knocked her from behind, and her hip rammed painfully into the edge of the salad bar. She turned to give a menacing glare, but it was half-hearted. She was so hungry.

"Come _on,_" someone grumbled from her left, and the sound felt like broken glass being lodged into her ears.

She couldn't stay here any longer. Sam tore away from the salad bar, feeling sick.

So far the cafeteria hadn't shown a whit of respect for the downfall of one of its troops – not even a black spork - though while they didn't serve ham often, Sam thought she saw clouds of unease and woe behind the lunch ladies' eyes.

She had to consider then that they _did _answer to a higher authority.

The plastic utensils on her tray rattled as she strode toward the exit, and she threw the entire tray into the trash can near the door on her way out, wishing the resulting clatter didn't sound so hollow.

oOo

Sam never thought she'd needed anything before, but now she knew, undoubtedly, what need was – what it was to hunger – and it etched its way down her throat like something dry and infinitely hollow, lodging itself in corners, making her_ need._

She needed this, and the words were pushed from her mouth before she'd even come to a stop.

"I need ham."

Rodney quirked an eyebrow.

"You're a growing girl –" he started, turning around to put a few very illegal items into his locker. Sam strode around to his other side, reaching out and slamming the door against his arm, the metal-to-flesh clang weaving into his pained "_Ow."_ Of course, she had his attention now. "What was that for?" he hissed indignantly, massaging his wrist.

"I couldn't care less if I were a shrub," Sam said heatedly. "I told you what I wanted, now do your job, and _get it_."

Rodney slammed his locker shut, his face twisting like he was looking into something too bright. All he mustered then was some sort of sidelong leer. "I always thought you were kind of a delinquent," he said, sounding almost pensive if not for the complete indignation turning his lips and making the words sounds bitter. "But now I know you're a complete nutjob."

Sam just stared. From somewhere around the corner, she heard a teacher scolding someone for dragging a pencil across a row of lockers.

Rodney licked his lips and turned so his shoulder was pressing itself into his locker. He stared Sam down like it really mattered to Sam how he looked at her.

"Sixty," he said, inclining his head, and Sam could see no reason for this other than so he could look down at her with more ease.

"_Sixt_ - you don't know how close I am to losing it," Sam bristled, and he stayed steady, pleasantly observing her discomfort like he was watching nothing more than a fly caught between a glass pane and a fine-netted screen - like he saw this all the time. And well, considering who he was, Sam thought he probably did.

"Okay," he conceded, framing his words with the conviction that the ham would be crafted from gold. "Fifty, but it's as low as I go."

Sam gritted her teeth. "I want it by tomorrow."

oOo

Eighteen hours.

Eighteen hours was manageable. Sam'd waited longer for something she'd really wanted. There was the time she couldn't insult the dweeb for a week, there was the time -

"- and someone's _not listening_."

"Huh?"

Sam turned her head slowly to see Carly's curled hair very close to her face. Sam mustered a smile. "Your hair's all curly today," she observed.

Carly made a face and grabbed the twisted ends, pulling herself back like Sam was about to snap at her.

From somewhere beyond Carly, Freddie made a noncommittal noise that made him sound like a banshee caught under the wheels of a semi-truck. Sam took this as a pained noises and proof that the universe was taking care of her duties in her time of need.

Carly made a face at him and then turned back to Sam, her entire expression shifting suddenly, the way only Carly could do, as if it had been pressed and folded out in a matter of seconds. "Freddie just told me about how he wants to open one really geeky shop," she said, adding needless inflections until she was almost shouting. "Tell her Freddie!" Freddie bared his teeth in what was probably supposed to be a smile. Sam gave him a _fail._ "He's going to call it US-_B_ US," Carly continued.

"That makes _no_ sense," Freddie grumbled quietly. Carly smiled even wider, as if exposing all of her teeth would mask his words. And well, Sam wished they would.

Sam looked from one to the other; it all seemed eerily like the time she was in grade school and Laura had gotten her a tutor: the lump tutoring her kept flashing index cards at her whenever she opened her mouth to speak. She pressed her palms to her eyelids; she had a headache.

"Geeky," Sam said indulgently, dropping her hands and fingering the flap on her pants pocket. The pieces of whatever snack Laura had washed with her cargo pants were gritty crumbles at the bottom, and they collected uncomfortably under her fingernails.

Carly and Freddie whispered together in a frenetic rush that sounded more like two spitting cats than anything human, ending when Carly nudged Freddie in the ribs.

"Uh…yeah," Freddy contrived horribly, tugging at his shirtsleeves. "And I'm going to have my employees dressed up as DRAM," he said, like it was a prompt.

"And what's DRAM, Freddie?" Carly asked in a voice that was wrong outside anywhere other than a game show.

"DRAM is a type of random access memory. It stores each bit of data in a separate -"

Carly laughed a loud, dry laugh, making even Freddie inch back, before she wiped away a fake tear and muttered "Oh,_ DRAM!_" like DRAM had just asked her to put on her best dress and go with it to the sock hop, before promptly shutting her mouth and looking intensely at Sam. Sam stared. "Well?" Carly prompted, leaning over in her beanbag. It crinkled anxiously.

Now was definitely the time for some sort of action. She was too tired and too_ hamless_ for this. "I'm gunna go get a tuna fish sandwich," Sam said lazily, rising from the beanbag. She stretched and looked down at Carly, who was gaping at her. "And I think you need to check yourself for fever, kiddo."

"Spencer doesn't buy tuna fish anymore," Carly said feebly, with the care more suited for stroking a broken, asthmatic kitten. "It has too much mercury in it, and he said if he wanted toxic fish he'd eat the little, fishy magnets off the refrigerator - after spraying them with rat poison, and - hollowing out their little bubble eyes and filling them with arsenic."

Sam stopped in the doorway, suddenly retracing her steps back to the elevator. She didn't have the energy she needed to run downstairs.

oOo

The first thing Rodney said to her when she met him behind the cafeteria was: "This is really sick, ya know?"

"Yeah, yeah, says the guy who takes gold teeth from hobos while they sleep and then sells burritos from his coat of many pockets," Sam said, her anticipation letting her neglect any marvelling she was required to do at how those two awesome facts might mesh together. She gesticulated impatiently before thrusting a hand out to him, palm up.

Rodney shook his head and unzipped the duffel bag by his feet, his glasses sliding down his nose as he bent over. "That's all very classified information," he said vaguely. Distantly, Sam registered that the bag had been lodged under the dumpster, though that really didn't need to bear thinking about.

"Yeah, that's why I heard it from the janitor," Sam deadpanned, crossing her arms.

He stopped and smiled wryly up at her. They met at the dumpster behind the cafeteria because it wasn't somewhere most kids could get to without being in some type of cahoots with the janitor. He was a shady guy, so of course, Sam _was_, though Rodney'd threatened to cut her off if she went snooping.

Rodney had also said this was the perfect spot to stash the ham because the garbage masked the smell.

Sam didn't think about what this said about her _or _ham, but it was better that she didn't, because then she might have had to hit him, and then she couldn't be together again with her ham.

"Money first," Rodney said, holding the duffel bag back a bit. Really, like she was going to gnaw at him for it. She'd never gnawed anyone who wasn't a lowerclassman.

Anyway, why would she want to gnaw on him when there was -

"Let me see the ham first," Sam said impatiently. Her stomach grumbled loudly, and Rodney raised an eyebrow.

He peeled back the flaps of the duffel bag, and a package caked with a sparkling layer of droplets was underneath, sweating a cold sweat that matched the uncomfortable feeling on the back of her neck.

Sam's mouth watered, and she dug into her pocket.

oOo

Sam'd never considered herself a lucky girl - not_ really -_ or at least not until one day when she was eight and had gotten insanely hungry because Laura hadn't packed her a lunch. What she lacked in luck, she made up for with the abrasive manner she took on for getting what she couldn't achieve any other way.

When she'd shoved Carly off that bench for her tuna fish sandwich that day, Sam'd expected her to be something more like a shy mouse that'd scurry back into a corner than something distinctly feline, someone who bristled and had tiny scythes for claws under all that fluff.

And she'd really never expected to find something that was so much more like home than anything she'd experienced before. Sam thought she'd gotten lucky that day, and as it turned out, she was lucky today too.

Laura wasn't home, and she wouldn't be home all day, which was the only reason why she was able to do this.

That, and the fact that Carly thought she had detention, and well – Sam hadn't_ lied_. She did have detention.

She just wasn't planning on showing up. And anyway, she'd go back to Carly's place when she was finished here. Here is where she needed to be.

The plastic netting around the ham was a pattern of bright, yellow diamonds that mirrored the shape of a chain-linked fence, something that surrounded anything that was ever worth getting into.

That had come away as easily as tugging the laces from her shoes while she rode the elevator up to her apartment.

She'd bolted when the elevator started to inch open, running farther than she had ever had to run in such a short distance, working at the wrapper, digging her fingers in like a spider working its web.

The second layer of plastic finally came away in the kitchen like the skin of a great snake under the pair of large, red-handled scissors Laura always futilely hid from her.

This pink was a color she'd only seen far behind her closed eyelids lately, not pressed to spots where she could see it, and absolutely not pressed up against her mouth, and so she pressed the ham to herself when that honey-pink color was revealed, running down the hall like the ham was held captive at the other end. The lights shone dimmer as she went, and the ham felt warmer.

There was a terrible moment when her back was against her bedroom door and there was a question against her mind about whether the ham was pre-cooked, but that was after the first piece was between her fingertips and on its way to her mouth; there was no question a couple of seconds later, because it was sweet and tasted nothing like old blood or something that would get her sent to the ER for _food betrayal_.

Then there was nothing - nothing but her and ham as she chewed and inhaled and tasted and was _alive, _alive through the taste of sweet meat, how it felt against her tongue and the trails she chewed to the edges of bone that came slowly unveiled; and it all lasted until she felt ready to burst and the bone had been picked clean.

Mostly picked clean. She slumped into the dark carpet when there wasn't anything left, the painful swell in her belly stinging, and the only thought she had then was that she didn't even care that the bone was in her way this time.

It was only an empty thing, now. Lacking purpose.

Dully, she thought that she could go back to Carly's now, since technically, she was supposed to stop by after detention anyway, but -

Sam took the knife and worked - actually worked for something - whittling away the last pieces of meat that looked like tiny, pink leeches. She didn't feel like she could move but still, she drudged over to the kitchen to get a Ziploc bag, placing those morsels there instead of in the trash, since she thought she'd knocked over the trash can anyway.

In the end, she shoved the bag under her bed. In case.

In case. Which was weird, because she never planned ahead. But - she might need those pieces again.

One thing was for sure, though.

Sam had no idea how hungry she'd really been.

* * *

Thank you muchly for reading! Your thoughts are appreciated. :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes:** A huge thanks to those of you who read and reviewed! Oh, and thanks to my "useless" beta, _eumonigy,_ too. :P

One chapter left after this one. :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _iCarly_, and I certainly don't own ham.

**

* * *

ii.**

Rodney was not happy.

"I just got that for you," he hissed, slamming his locker like Sam'd really be deferred by a metal door. "Whatd'ja do, feed it to a family of five?" The words were shaped with caution, and his face suddenly narrowed in suspicion. "Hey," he said, leaning in closer. "Hey - I just sold you the - _I had no other involvement."_

_"Chillax,"_ Sam said loudly, so maybe Rodney'd stop looking around like there were cops swinging from the florescent ceiling lights. Maybe she should feel sheepish or something. _Oh well._ "I ate the whole thing myself; now get me another one."

Rodney stared.

"I was _deprived!"_ Sam rationalized, taking a moment to wave her hands around vaguely before saying, "You said it yourself. _Growing girl._ Unless you said shrub."

"You called yourself a shrub," Rodney pointed out coolly, leaning into his locker. "No one in his right mind would call you that."

"True that," Sam smirked. "I'd consider myself more of a shrine to ham or a-"

_"Ok,_" Rodney cut in, sensing the conversation was headed for ham-born chaos. "I get it. Just can it for a sec, and I'll think about your situation." Sam stood with her arms crossed as Rodney examined his padlock like the numbers were there calculating coded answers to her 'situation.' "Alright," Rodney conceded, leaning down conspiratorially. "But look, stock is diminishing here. I don't know what you're doing with that ham -" Sam scowled. "_Ok_, you 'ate it.' Whatever. I'm just sayin', there won't be ham around soon. Did you hear the news? That stuff is jank."

"Yeah, yeah, bad feed and some crazy ham disease," Sam said, more in exasperation than anything. Really, she wouldn't know a thing about it: an untrained monkey without eyes could see that she wasn't paying any attention to any annoying ham news.

Though things seemed to be working out either way: Rodney said he'd get her the ham, and he also said tomorrow, so Sam believed him enough to turn and walk away. He may have been a little cheat, but she had to admire the way he got business done.

Sam felt almost giddy, which was a nice little touch to go along with the residual buzz she felt from the ham she had eaten last night. It was just too bad she had to run right into a Freddie then. Standard greetings were in order: Freddie arched an eyebrow; Sam rolled her eyes.

"Why were you talking to _Rip-Off Rodney_?" he asked incredulously.

"None of your business, little man," she said tersely, pushing past him.

Freddie caught up to her stride, puffing himself up like a pool toy. "Little man," he scoffed. "I'm gunna hit my growth spurt soon," he said haughtily.

Sam snorted. "And I'm gunna hit _you_ soon if you don't stop being such a dork."

"Ha ha," Freddie said dryly. "Where's Carly? She asked me to find her after school, but she's not at her locker."

Sam picked up her pace. "That's because she had some business to attend to."

"Aw, man," Freddie whined. "Did you get 'er in trouble again?"

_"No."_ Sam said, stopping just a moment to flick him on the forehead, to which his hands shot up as he made the face of a hamster deeply wronged, and shouted _'disrespect!.'_ "She's meeting with a teacher."

Freddie did nothing but grumble, and for a moment there was only that and the sound of their footsteps against the hallway tiles before Sam saw the classroom she knew Carly would be in and strode briskly toward it. When she leaned in, keeping a hand on the frame to brace herself, she saw Carly standing spectacularly stiff-backed before Miss Briggs.

Sam grinned and leaned into the doorframe, reaching out to take the scruff of Freddie's collar so he wouldn't keep walking past.

"Carly's in with the Briggster," Sam told him solemnly as he drifted roughly toward her, her hand still in the collar of his shirt.

_"Ow,"_ Freddie choked unappreciatively, rubbing his throat; Sam let go. "Thanks for pulverizing my Adam's apple!"

"No prob, Freddo," Sam said, patting him on the back. When she turned back to the room, Carly was walking toward them, a purple folder clutched tightly in her hands.

"Red is greater than purple," Carly said in a falsetto, her back still stiff and her face set tightly enough to match. "Black is greater than yellow!"

"What was that, Miss Shay?" Miss Briggs said from behind Carly, her eyebrows travelling up to her hairline like two dried worms being blown into a dead bush.

"Nothing, Miss Briggs!" Carly laughed too loudly, making a full pivot to shoot Miss Briggs a stony, deranged smile.

When Carly turned back around, it looked a little like the makings of the apocalypse ran under her skin.

"Uh oh. What up with you and the Brigmyster?" Sam asked, wishing she had ham to put into her mouth then.

Carly pushed past her and Freddie and walked briskly into the hallway, waiting until they had turned a corner before she spoke. "What's _wrong_ with the teachers around here?" she yelled.

Just then substitute Buttburn, who had been sitting in on eighth grade remedial English that month, walked by and screamed, _"I'm sorry!"_ in their direction before hurling himself into what Sam knew was the janitor's closet.

"Something in the water?" Freddie suggested, throwing the closet door a sympathetic look.

Sam rolled her eyes. She could think of a lot of things to answer Carly's question, the least of it being pointy boobs, which was true for more than just the female teachers.

"Then I might as well give up my dream of getting straight As," Carly said sadly, fingering the strap of her tote bag. _"Aw,_ and Spencer's been in a mood where he's been working with things like sweets. Which are edible. _Edible and delicious!_ He said he'd make me a giant A out of chocolate."

"The kind you like that turns your tongue blue?" Sam asked knowingly.

Carly nodded painfully. "Mhm."

"Burn," Sam commented gently.

"What's so great about chocolate?" Freddie asked.

Carly sighed, her eyes blurring in ecstasy. "It's kind of like dogpaddling through a melted-down rainbow while hot servants bring you eternal youth boiled gently in a cup." Freddie looked at her with raised eyebrows. "It's a girl thing; _you don't know!"_

Sam scoffed and looked him over. "I think he might one day, if we wait long enough."

"Hey!" Freddie yelled.

_"Sam,"_ Carly scolded.

_"Sorry,"_ Sam sighed.

"Ok," Carly agreed.

Freddie looked from her to Carly, clearly bemused. "Do _I_ have any say in this? I'm still offended here."

"She didn't mean it," Carly said gently. "Anyway," she continued as Sam grumbed that she did too. "The next report I do _has_ to be perfect or I'm outta luck again."

Beyond chocolate, Sam really didn't see what the big deal was there, but if it was important to Carly: "You want me to put moldy eggs into Briggs' gas tank?"

_"Sam,"_ Carly sighed, making her very special 'I've explained why this is bad before' face.

"OK," Sam said, holding her hands up in acquiescence, even though she was going to do it anyway. "It was just a suggestion."

"Oh, I almost forgot," Freddie said, rummaging through his backpack. He brought out a piece of printed-on paper and handed it to Carly. "Looked it up during computer lab, since I had a little time after my science test." Sam looked at the exchange curiously.

"Awesome," Carly said, running her eyes over it quickly.

Sam felt distinctly left out. "What's all this?"

"Just weird things people put up on eBay," Carly said as they pushed out into the parkinglot; Freddie held the door open so she could keep reading as she walked out. "We discussed this the other day at my house, remember?"

"Was my reply something like, 'Ham ham ham, oh the humanity. Ham'?" Sam suggested in a deadpan. "Because if it was, I didn't hear ya, kid."

Something tugged at the corners of Carly's mouth before she flipped the page over, and her face drained of color.

Sam opened her mouth to ask if Freddie had added some poem about Carly's nose hair to the top corner of the page, when there was a flash of movement from somewhere to the left and a distinct, Fredward-sounding shout, which prompted Freddie to yell, _"Mom!"_

Sam threw her head back and laughed as Freddie's mom shot out from behind a tree and streamed toward Freddie like an out-of-control steam engine.

Carly smiled over at Sam before looking back to watch Freddie fry under the onslaught of his mother's questions. ("Well, you didn't call to _say that._ You could have been lying dead under the wheel of a hobo's bicycle!") The only thing that could have made this moment better was ham, and that was coming to her tomorrow. Sam's insides buzzed with the anticipation of it, the anticipation of everything falling back to perfect normalcy.

oOo

As it turned out, it wasn't perfect normalcy at all, but everything sure surpassed 'perfect' to create something that was _better_ than normal.

The day Rodney was able to provide Sam with the next ham, she realized just what she had been striving for in life all along. There were two emotions exactly; Sam really didn't know why she hadn't realized how _simple_ life was before. And Sam really, _really_ liked simple.

It used to be little pranks and _iCarly_ and Carly and avoiding Laura (and Laura's crazy insistence that they go to Build-A-Bra every other day) and terrorizing her classmates (especially wannabe-best-friend-snatching dorks like Freddie) and sidestepping exertion where she could (even if it meant sidestepping a prequel, sidestepping tact, and getting straight to a point which was all poison-dipped knives that hurt someone).

Those things were like the darkness confined behind her eyelids; those things were scorched under the light when she opened them.

Now she separated her experience into two categories: moments with Ham and the writhing-over-a-flaming-nest-of-barbed-wire hell without Ham.

It was just pleasure versus pain. It was...all so simple she could cry.

Or she could hit something and eat ham. _Whatever._

Now, though, she was in a purple beanbag in Carly's studio, not really knowing why she was there and not with Ham.

"You know what we should do?" Sam asked. Her mouth was dry, and the sound came out like some desert wind: all grit and little control. "We should make the show called _iHam."_

Carly smiled indulgently from where she was folded into the yellow beanbag next to Sam. "I don't think _iCarly_ viewers would really appreciate that. There is that huge scandal with all the people who are in the hospital right now because of illegal farming practices," she said cheerily. "But how about _iChicken?"_

"Too much beak, not enough ham," Sam groaned; it was bad enough she even had to _smell_ the chicken nuggets the cafeteria served at school that day.

"Hey, you guys?" Freddie asked as he walked into the room. "Have you seen my new cell phone?"

Sam slunk lower into her beanbag and threw an arm over her face. She'd rather listen to hyperactive squirrels climb a mountain of empty Peppy Cola cans than this.

"You mean it's not in your man purse?" Carly quipped, making her voice soft.

Sam peeked over the yellow material of her shirt to see Freddie's eyes go narrow like knives, and he began stepping further into the room. "It was a _fitted case_ made especially for technically-inclined men who happen to also be on the go!" Freddie said. "And my mom made me wear it for safe keeping. Ever since Sam got Spencer to smash my other phone with a hammer."

"Clearly we are faced with a _case_ of your manly fitted case not doing its job," Carly shot in with mock severity, the campiness of her words seeming to make her giddier. Only her smile only fell at Freddie's cheerless expression, as if a breeze had swooped in to wipe it from her face. "You want us to help you find it?"

"No, that's ok," Freddie grumbled, walking over and plopping himself into the empty beanbag near Carly. "I've already _looked_ everywhere," he sighed, crossing his arms sulkily. "I even asked Spencer if he used it for his sculpture."

"The cellphone wedding?" Carly asked knowingly.

_"Yeah._ But he said my cellphone wasn't _groom material,_" Freddie whined. "_Man,_ that's the second one I've had to have replaced this year."

"He's right, though," Carly said pensively. "I see the _Raspberry_ living more the lifestyle of a sassy but moderately sensitive bachelorette."

Freddie made a noise like a dying moose before there was silence, and Sam burrowed deeper into the beanbag. After a while, Sam realized they were both staring at her.

"Still?" Carly asked to the backdrop of Freddie's raised eyebrow. "You seemed better today."

Sam stared. "What are you talking about?"

"You seemed better than you were a few days ago," Carly repeated. "With the whole - thing. You know."

"No, wait," Freddie said slowly. "Actually, I _like_ her this way. She hasn't insulted me once since we got here."

"Freddie, you're not helping."

Sam gazed lazily from Carly to Freddie. She really didn't like Freddie's face, she decided, and closed her eyes. She was tired.

"On second thought," he said. "Maybe we should check for a pulse."

Sam knew an opportunity when she saw one, and she took this one and ran with it. "Yeah, actually, I'm not feeling well. I think I'm going to go home."

"But. Are you sure you just don't want to lie down in my room?" Carly asked. "I've got a new glow-in-the-dark pillow case. And Spencer didn't make this one!" she put in quickly. "So there won't be any more accidents."  
Sam shook her head picked up her backpack. "I don't want to get my cooties over all your nice things."

"But I like your cooties," Carly pouted. "Come on, Freddie and I will bring you soup. We'll be your soup servants. Chowder Chattels!"

Sam's stomach turned.

"I don't think my stomach can handle chowder, Carls," Sam said, swinging her backpack over her shoulder. "I'll see you in school tomorrow."

Carly's entire face was pulled with uncertainty. Sam didn't know how she _knew_ something else was up, but it made Sam walk quicker toward the door, as if the coil of unease writhing up her stomach would burn off with the movement.

oOo

Sam had a very steady hand.

No one ever gave thought to her precision until she was chucking Palmer's Glue at the backs of their heads, and then it was just annoyance and heavy cursing, mostly at her parents for reproducing, rather than showing any appreciation for her pitcher-worthy skill.

But still, Sam had a very steady hand.

Sam was _careful_ the next time she was in the bathroom with a ham in her lap, cutting it into equal slices that could easily hold her over until Rodney's next delivery. But only if she were careful. And she was; Sam had even gotten her cousin to provide her with a small refrigerator that she wedged into the back of her closet like some oversized Easter egg hidden in the grass.

Lately it seemed to Sam that she spent far too much time in bathrooms, though oddly, it wasn't like she really minded: she was with Ham. And anyway, eventually she couldn't even eat in the cafeteria at school with all that Not Ham everywhere, so when she could slip away, she spent all of lunch in the upstairs faculty bathroom, sometimes falling asleep with a cheek pressed against the stall, because _Christ_, if there was one word to describe her, it was _tired._

It was the only place she could go, really: the teachers never went into that bathroom anymore, not with all the mysterious pictures that were circulating – all taken at one of the staff parties that was held in the handicapped stall. Sam didn't have to worry about that: she was the one who had taken them.

Somewhere outside of the life Sam had in bathrooms, Carly constantly breezed by like a giant pair of wringing hands, talking about glow-in-the-dark sneakers and cannibalistic garden gnomes and _grades_ and things that didn't matter at all. But mostly, she would offer Sam a brush and get that look on her face that meant she was worried about something and would be demanding Spencer to tell her what she should do any day now.

Eventually Sam was too exhausted to stay tuned in, but that didn't mean Carly ever stopped trying.

oOo

When Carly showed up at Sam's apartment one afternoon, she was wearing a pair of glasses that made her look like a giant, pink bumble bee.

"Quick, let me in," Carly whispered, whipping the glasses off her face. "Your creepy neighbor was peeping suggestively at me again, this time one eye at a time! That's an eye-peep per half-second, making that two peeps per second!" She whispered all of this in a wild rush which mirrored the way she breezed into the room.

Laura really liked that creepy neighbor, Sam thought; she had him come over all the time to fix things that didn't need any fixing.

"Is that light flickering up there?" Sam asked Carly, pointing to the ceiling.

"Sam, what are you talking about?" Carly asked, striding into the kitchen and removing her coat. Sam trudged after her. "You don't even have overhead lighting in your dining room."

"Oh. It must have been –" Sam stopped. Carly was wearing a pink coat. "You're wearing a pink coat."

Carly looked at her, her eyebrows arched, before she drooped her shoulders. "Sam," she sighed. "Have you even been eating since – _you know?"_

"Of course," Sam smiled half-heartedly. "You know me, Carly-girl." Of course she'd been eating; in fact, she'd just carelessly scarfed down a quarter of what she had rationed before Carly rang the doorbell.

Carly perked up suddenly, her face remolded in a mater of seconds. "Well," she said and then took two packages from a plastic bag Sam hadn't noticed before. This was truly a sign of the apocalypse: Sam never missed it when someone had grocery bags. Grocery bags most likely contained _food._

"I give up," Sam said weakly, swinging her arms. "What is it?"

Carly was smiling widely and clutching the two plastic packages in both hands, completely unaware that Sam was about to drop dead and melt into the kitchen linoleum if she didn't get back to her ham soon. She was so _tired;_ and the room? Not as still as it should have been.

Carly lifted the packages higher and thrust them so far out that Sam thought Carly's arms might snap off and start crawling over to her.

"Ok," Carly said excitedly. "Try not to knock it yet, but…it's soy ham."  
Sam's stomach protested by feeling like it was trying to burrow into the spot between her ribs. She knew there was a reason she had been holed up alone in her room for the past couple of days. "That's some janky stuff," Sam said, becoming more horrified as she read the package. "I'm not eating something that says it's chicken-flavored meatless ham. That's not natural, Carls."

Carly's face fell. "Oh, come on. You haven't even tried it. It could be the ham product to end the great ham drought. You know. 'And soy ham comes galloping in from a white shopping bag and saves the day,'" Carly suggested, as if she were reading the last bit from a storybook.

"That," Sam said, collapsing into a chair at the table. "Is _not_ a ham product."

"It is in Japan," Carly protested. Sam looked up into Carly's hopeful face; Carly perked suddenly. "Come on, since when do you turn down food?" Sam stared. "What if I make it? Chicken-flavored meatless ham in a simmering chicken-flavored meatless ham sauce, courtesy of Carly Megan Shay, chicken-flavored meatless ham expert?"

"Weird, I'm getting the feeling you wanna make some chicken-flavored meatless ham," Sam said impassively.

That was when Carly made the packages do a little dance and followed the movements with pouty faces.

"Ugh," Sam groaned.

Carly grinned at her.

_"Ugh."_

"Hey, no _ugh_ing until you've finished your dinner," Carly smiled.

"That's the thing I was _ugh_ing at," Sam said. "You know I can't turn down willing servants and your pouty faces. You gunna get to cookin', or what?"

"I'ma cookin'," Carly said, bouncing over toward the stove as Sam threw her face against the table surface.

Sam watched Carly whirl around the kitchen, flittering like a small flame as she twisted between the lights coming from the high windows. She let her lids drop lower, listening to the sizzle of that ham travesty contaminating Laura's cookware as Carly moved past, catching the light that seemed to cling and then come off her in smears like spun sugar.

There was still ham left over in her bedroom; she could just say she was going to the bathroom and leave to go get it.

An hour later, Sam was emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet as Carly rubbed her back and apologized nervously, as if she was afraid Sam was made of crystal filaments and would shatter. As Carly stroked the sweat and clinging strings of hair from Sam's face, Sam began to think that maybe it wasn't okay anymore, not even a little bit. Somewhere behind the part of her that was screaming for ham, she realized that.

Unfortunately, the part screaming for ham was louder.

oOo

Most things involving Laura seemed to be heralded by the crash of door slamming loudly into a wall, particularly Sam's wall.

_"Samantha!"_

Sam shot up in bed and stared at her mother who was now framed in the doorway, the floral wallpaper behind her looking incongruous with her rage. A dull sting of indignation curled in Sam's stomach: she hadn't done anything this time. Though all the same, Sam didn't have the energy to get angry.

"What?" was all her dry throat had to offer her, and Sam tried to swallow, like if she were able to get it slick, the words would slide up easier.

"This is absolutely foul," Laura said, angrily waving something small clutched in her hand that caught the overhead light. Her blonde, bobbed hair was bouncing in indignation with every movement she made.

Sam shot up in her bed, realizing what Laura had. It was that tube of lipstick – the _hamstick._

"Mom –"

"Why do you _do_ things like this, Sammy?" Laura said in frustration, disregarding Sam. "All I do is try and help you, and you just go and destroy my things." With that, she flung the hamstick across the room, probably more with the intent to get it away from herself than to hit something.

It struck the ground with the dull sound of something alive slumping over in pain, and Sam could feel the urgency to reach for it claw from under her skin.

"Aren't you _listening_?" Laura demanded, making it sound low and ugly. She was right, though, about all of it; everything. Sam thought of all the little truths just lying under the accusations in her mother's tone, as if she were just waiting for Sam to pick them out. Only the one surface question held true: Sam _wasn't_ listening. Laura, though, didn't listen either. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you anymore," she said before the door slammed again, this time shut. Sam didn't wait to hear another door before she scramble off her bed to rummage for the hamstick

The ham itself had a couple of white tufts of mold lying against its pink surface like tiny pieces of cauliflower held in the hand of a small child.

Sam took the ham from the lipstick tube and brought it close to her face. As expected, it smelled as if someone had died – well, died and then not been cooked immediately afterwards. Maybe she couldn't eat it – or just not without some purifying process, but things might get desperate. There had to be a place for it. In the end Sam decided that place would be it in the same bag with the bones, now in the tiny refrigerator in her closet.

Because she might need it.

oOo

The third time Sam went to see Rodney about a possible deal, he refused.

"Come on, man," Sam pleaded. "I _need_ it. It's - it's for _iCarly._"

Rodney snorted and crossed his arms tighter around himself. "You weren't on _iCarly_ yesterday," he said.

_Crap._

"Since when do you say no to ripping people off?" Sam countered. She dug her fingernails into her palms, letting it sting.

"Since there's nothing to sell," Rodney snorted. "Look, my supplier's run out. That's it. There's no more ham. Anyway, everyone's noticed how you've been acting. I'm not the most hygienic person around, but - when was the last time you combed your hair?"

Sam grabbed the ends of her hair and looked down at the tangled edges grasped roughly between her fingers like dried grass that had grown up through the sidewalk before shooting him a glare. She didn't _care._

"Anyway," Rodney continued, as Sam opened her mouth to speak. "I'm not going to be responsible for the downward spiral of _iCarly's_ co-host. News gets out, you know?"

With that, Rodney turned to walk down the hallway, leaving her feeling like a brittle plant that was still in need of watering. Sam searched around frantically in the empty hallway, not really sure what she was looking for, but here was nothing anyway, so she took off one of her shoes and chucked it at his head.

Unfortunately, she missed.

"You'll be sorry," Sam screamed into an empty hallway.

Rodney didn't even turn as he shrugged. It was ok, though; Sam would be calm. All it meant was that she needed to find some other way to eat ham.

oOo

Calm wasn't working.

Sam had the guy against his locker, metal making satisfying pangs that resonated through her when she slammed him into it, but it was an empty noise, and she needed something satiating.

She didn't know who he was beyond being some guy with sharp creases in his pants who had just been standing there. Maybe that was all it took anymore.

"Look, why don't you chill, Sam?" she heard over the incessant buzzing in her ears and the crash of flesh pounding into metal before her. Why was this kid so _stupid_?

"Don't tell me to chill, geek boy," Sam said, throwing her arm back to dislodge Freddie's hand from her shoulder. "Do you wanna be next or something?"

"Come on, you're getting way out of hand," Freddie said as the kid in front of her whimpered. Freddie grabbed at her again, but she threw him off easily. "What did he even _do_?"

Freddie never got to find out about his _standing_ or his sharp creases, though, because something else made Sam's mind go numb.

_"Sam!"_

Sam threw the kid hard against the locker, and he grunted in pain before scurrying away like spider missing half its legs.

She turned to see Carly making her way quickly down the stairs. "I've been looking everywhere for you," she said, threads of desperation clinging to the edges of her words. "And what have I told you about beating kids up in the hallway?" Sam could tell Carly was trying to make the words sound light, but it wasn't working, not with the way her lips were pressed together like two bricks. Sam could tell she wasn't mad, though. She looked scared.

Sam picked up her backpack and flung it over her shoulder; she really didn't want to play this game right now. "I'm a rude, abrasive person," Sam said dully. The high she'd felt moments before was ebbing, leaving her with the distinct feeling that she ought to be lying down somewhere.

"What did he even _do?"_ Freddie repeated, cutting in _again._

"Why don't you stay out of this," Sam asked roughly. The room spun, and she backed into the lockers, trying to hold on. "Actually, get in on it all you want, Freddo. I'm outta here." With that, she pushed off the locker and made for the door, surprised she was able to remain steady.

"Oh, come on, Sam!" Carly shouted after her. Sam turned momentarily to see Freddie grab at Carly, as if he were afraid Sam would hit her too. Carly, though, advanced further, but Sam turned away in disgust just before Carly shouted, "It's like we haven't seen you in _days._ You missed _iCarly_ last night!"

Sam bit the inside of her mouth to keep from answering, though when Carly called her again, this time sounding more desperate, she turned, only to find the hall pressing in on her and a pinprick of shape that was Carly and half of Freddie somewhere at the end.

"I have something to take care of," Sam yelled back, making sure she kept moving. She couldn't stop; she needed the last of the ham. _Now._ "Laur– uh, my mom needs me for something, and you know how she can be. I'll be over tomorrow."

Sam turned then, before she could see any more disbelief break through Carly's face.

oOo

Sam wondered exactly what someone meant when they said bone-white. The bones before her weren't that white at all. It was more the color of a dirty, white bird or the yellow of a hobo's smile.

So far she had two of the large bones stacked in the refrigerator in the back of her closet, and with the green blooming brightly on the hamstick which was settling in front of them, it all looked a bit like tooth decay. Something inside Sam felt ready to burst, and she wanted to laugh.

Only a tenth of the last 10-pound ham sat on the top shelf of the tiny refrigerator. She would have to ration it more carefully until -

There had to be another way to get ham. She would probably have been able to go to her Uncle Abner who was a butcher, but he was in jail for selling human flesh, even though it was just that _one time._

The tiny bulb in the closet flickered strobe-like above Sam for a moment, and she leaned back wearily against a pile of clothes before putting another piece of ham to her tongue. There had to be some other way of getting ham. Sam would do anything.

* * *

Thanks for reading! As always, your thoughts are appreciated. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes: **This is the end. If anyone one is interested, I've gotten some e-mails about my other unfinished fics, and so I posted a note in my profile in case anyone else wondered. :)

**Disclaimer:** I do not have claims to _iCarly._ Or Mrs. Hayfer.

* * *

**iii.**

Sam glared down the plate in front of her as if hoping to express to the deli meats just how pissed off she was with the furrow in her brow. Of course, her scowl and the knife clutched in her fisted hand might have given it away as well.

Her insides felt as if they were going through a trash compactor, so the image before her could at least have had the decency to be still.

She carved out a quarter-sized hole in the center of the layered mess of deli-sliced chicken, her hand unable to keep from shaking.

All the right colors were there—pink and white with a bit of off-colored chunks in the center—only she couldn't get the picture to match the one in her mind, not even while squinting, so Sam chucked her knife at the center of the table.

Ham, she decided for the billionth time this lifetime, was irreplaceable.

Laura rushed through the kitchen, scooping a few small, jangling items into her purse as the knife gave a hard clunk against the table surface.

"You said you'd stop throwing knives after what happened to your uncle's glass eye," Laura said absently.

Sam grunted in affirmation, flicking her hand dismissively.

"For god's sake, Samantha, it was _in the man's face_ at the time!" She unzipped her purse—_the red one_— and rummaged though, swapping tracks as briskly as she'd walked into the room. "I've got an appointment in a few. You're going to have to catch a ride with the Shays. I've already called them, so don't try and skip out on your classes today."

Sam shot her mother an incredulous look. Laura was wearing her floral-print, white halter top, which she tugged at incessantly. She shoved a pair of sunglasses over her eyes—Sam could only hope because there were knives and tension in the room—before shoving a stick of gum into her mouth.

"So how much longer until you look like the Crypt Keeper?" Sam asked nonchalantly, but it felt empty. She pushed on the edge of a fork, making it buck under her fingertips.

Laura sniffed and banished the words with a tug at the hem of her halter. "I'm going to need you to stay home for about a week in a couple of months," she said evenly, regarding Sam from over the cheap red plastic of her sunglasses. "You know the drill."

Sam scowled at the hopeless deli slices, bringing the fork down hard over them. She was taken aback when a jolt shot through her body like an electric shock, and if it registered with Laura, she kept it cloaked behind her touchiness and sunglasses.

"_Samantha,_" she warned.

"Did you forget there's something called _the state'll come after you if I'm kept from school_?" Sam asked through grit teeth. "Get Aunt Bertie to look after you."

"I'm your mother."

Sam went back to prodding the glinting silver when she heard Laura's heels click over the linoleum floor, out of sync with the frenzied clanking of her fork.

When she stood before her, she forced a hand beneath Sam's chin, guiding her face to look up toward her own. She wasn't wearing her sunglasses anymore, and her eyes crinkled at the corners as her mouth tipped upward in a smile. God, she even looked depressed when she smiled.

"This grunge look doesn't work for you," she said, and Sam was amazed she was actually able to dismiss what everyone else called negligent hygiene to fashion. It was too easy with Laura; it always had been. "You'll finish eating that chicken?" Laura asked softly, as if the promises they made to each other meant anything at all. Sam nodded. "Make sure you do. That stuff's not cheap."

She released Sam and walked quickly toward the door, grabbing her oversized parka and kicking the cat into a yowling ball of orange fluff and then calling it a lazy slob on her way.

"Yes," Sam replied to the closing door. "It is."

oOo

With Carly hauling Sam to school, there was no skipping out on class. She'd even kept quiet about the incident in the hallway, probably in fear of scaring Sam off again.

Hell, if Carly could've put Sam in her pencil box, she would have been folding Sam up and telling her to watch out for the sharp points as soon as she showed up at Sam's door.

Puncture wounds would have been a good out. She was only able to do so much to throw off Carly's questioning, and homeroom was a mind-killing, hamless drag.

Sam kicked her legs under her desk, letting the toe of her shoe grind and catch over the slick, white floors. The sensation resonated through her like pins and needles.

"You girl," the new teacher said shortly. Sam looked up toward her, deeply unamused.

The teacher had just transferred from somewhere in California, apparently leaving a trail of vengeful students in her wake. Her name was Mrs. Hayfer, and boy, was she a lamer.

"Stop with that tomfoolery," Mrs. Hayfer said, pointing a yardstick in Sam's direction. "Or I'll have to send you to the nurse."

The _nurse_?

Sam was about to reply that she really wasn't the one who needed to be in a place that required nursing assistance when the door swung opened, and Gibby stepped in.

"Gibby!"Mrs. Hayfer cried.

"I was in he nurse's office!" Gibby cried, holding up a bandaged finger. "I punctured my finger." Mrs. Hayfer gave him the evil eye. "I was discoing too hard."

"OK," Mrs. Hayfer replied sweetly, crossing her arms and brushing a strand of white-blonde hair from her forehead. "As long as you're telling the truth, we can all get back to our business."

Gibby trudged sulkily down one of the aisles, rubbing his index finger, when Mrs. Hayfer suddenly spun in place, pointing her yardstick menacingly at Gibby. "Gibby, I'm not done with you! Now tell me; what type of topical ointment was used in mending your wound?"

"I – I don't know!" Gibby sputtered like a defective garden hose. His shoulders stiffened like rigor mortis had just set in among his meaty body, and a deep flush spread up his entire face.

"Detention!" she cried. "Now take your seat. I'm watching you," she hissed as Gibby set off down the aisle.

Gibby hung his head tragically and slipped into the desk in front of Sam. "I could have never discoed again."

Sam threw her head forward to rest on the desk and yawned in toast to Mrs. Hayfer's insanity.

At least now she could crash without being noticed. Carly would probably be waiting outside homeroom, so that meant no activities requiring unconsciousness would be permitted at lunch without Carly thinking something was wrong.

Sam was usually attentive enough to at least put mashed potatoes down someone's pants.

The sounds of Mrs. Hayfer's voice undulated and wove through the air. Sam ran her hands over the desk, sweat marks trailing behind her fingertips before disappearing, as if she'd never been there.

Her cheek pressed painfully into the desktop; her eyes slid downward.

Gibby was leaning far over his desk, his shirt riding up. He had a scar, knotted and white at the small of his pink back.

oOo

Carly'd lugged Sam around that day like Sam was a spitting cat in a carrier, though she sure felt slightly less dignified than a cat.

Carly was acting casual in the completely transparent and stressed-out way she always did (for some reason, she had even gotten into the habit of pulling out her phone every few minutes) while Freddie shuffled around, fiddling with whatever he could get his grubby hands on.

Sam wanted to shove straws up her nose and have a nice hobo come suck out her brain.

Somehow Carly and Freddie had gotten Sam over to Carly's house after school, where Sam feigned interest in iCarly once more. It was lame—their peppy fronts, the work; all of it.

Nothing would ever compare to ham, and Sam saw that now. She saw the light, and it was all pink and glorious and made of Ham.

"Aw, _man_!" Freddie shouted, plaguing her bleak, hamless existence with his whining. "Now I have to go wash this off."

Sam glanced down to the spot by her waist, the place where Freddie was staring at in horror. Sam was standing over bunches of twined chords and an outlet box on a table, and--she was actually _drooling._

She stared as Freddie took one of the bunched-up black coils from in front of her, scrunching up his face in the process. He even paused at the door to give an even more unpleasant glare.

"Yeah, try not to…" Sam began in retaliation, before trailing off. He was already in the hallway. What did it matter?

Yawning, Sam stepped hazily over to Freddie's control panel, taking in the complexity of it all. She slouched forward and twisted her fingers around knobs, coasting plastic buttons along their tracks and flipping metal switches.

There was a pattern to it all, there was a precise, scientific way to break it. She needed a way to occupy her hands, which hadn't stopped shaking since that morning.

"Sam, do you have a boyfriend?" Carly broke thorough, sounding like she'd just blurted it out without prequel.

_"What?"_

Carly stood like a stiff wall before her, waiting to buckle, her mouth a sculpted into a hard line.

"I want to talk about yesterday, and--are you seeing someone, and you just don't want to tell me?"

Sam let her hand slide from the controls, bringing a few of the knobs sliding down under her fingertips.

"Why would you think that?" Sam asked, stepping from behind Freddie's castle of nerddom.

Carly just stared at her for a moment before doing what Sam could only call _exploding:_

"_Because_," Carly said, as if it were obvious. "You're really distant lately, and even when you're right here, you've zoned out so much you're drooling all over Freddie's equipment! And when you're not here, no one knows where you are, and your name is perpetually on my 'outgoing calls' list because I call you all day, and you never answer!" Carly pulled her phone from her pocket and thrust it toward Sam. "Just look at it! 54 calls! The Pear phone tells no lies!"

"Whoa," Sam said, stepping deeper into the room until she stood before Carly. Carly's fists were clenched, her face exhausted. "Chill. I'm not seeing _anyone_," Sam assured. "Why would I hide that from you?"

Carly looked down at her shoes and breathed before looking back into Sam's face. She looked somber and hesitant, but she spoke all the same. "Last time you had a boyfriend, I kind of messed it up for you, so I thought this time you would want to hide it."

"Carls," Sam said, drawing up strength to look at her steadily. "Jonah was just a jerk," she shrugged. "Want a consolation ankle shake?" she asked weakly. If she bolted now, there might not be anymore questioning.

It was stupid to be there. Stock was low, and she should have been cruising the black market for ham.

"Then what's _wrong_?" Carly said, blowing off the ankle shake like it was meant nothing. And maybe after Carly broke her promise with Sam about Sam switching their grades in the school computer, it wasn't worth as much anymore anyway. "You look like you've been trampled on by goats. Goats in _high heels_."

A sick silence wove itself through the room as Sam stared fathomlessly back at Carly. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard to run out and never come back. Only Sam didn't feel like she could do any running anytime soon.

Carly suddenly spoke, very slowly. "This _can't_ still be about—"

"OK, you guys, we're good to go!" Freddie said, walking into the room with his stupid cable held close to his chest. "I had to take extreme caution so not to get water into the—Sam!" he shouted. He sputtered a bit, looking from her to the tech cart. "What did you _do_?"

"I fixed it for ya," Sam deadpanned. He gaped like a hooked fish, while Carly took on an air of someone done a great wrong. "Let's get to business, you two!" Sam cried enthusiastically, throwing her arms over her head.

It felt stale, though, and the motion stung, running through her body like a knife under her ribs. She needed sleep. And ham.

God, she needed ham.

oOo

Carly had to concede: she couldn't stay with Sam 24/7.

She could sure make a big deal out of holding Sam to a promise to call as she stepped out of Spencer's car, though. And boy, did she.

Only Sam didn't look back as Carly shouted over the pounding of rain. By the time they dropped Sam off, she felt like she was crawling out of her skin.

The door to the apartment was bolted shut when Sam reached it, issuing an unkind slap in the face when her sweat-laminated hand slipped over the doorknob. Shrugging her backpack off her shoulder, she unzipped the main compartment and rested it on her knee to rummage for her keys.

As of the last couple of days, her backpack had been abandoned territory; there was a crushed pudding cup at the bottom which had spilled chocolaty gunk all over her books and binder.

Sam's hands shook worse than ever when she overturned it, letting her pudding-covered school things crash over the floor in one sticky pile. Her keys were not among the mess.

She was just about to raise a foot to kick in the door when Kevin, the building manager, slowed to a stop before her.

"What's all this?" he commented gruffly.

Sam looked dispassionately toward the pile at her feet, which was oozing pathetically. "Custard pie?"

Kevin crossed his arms over his narrow chest, looking as if the gesture were meant to restrain him. "You clean it up," he said, mustache aquiver.

He turned curtly to walk down the hall before Sam called back to him to say she was locked out of her apartment.

Kevin turned, his shoulders stiff as lead pipes, as if facing spilt pudding was a valiant task that would be the end of him, and when the door was opened, Sam silently thanked him by not slamming the door in his face and making sure to at least pluck her school things from the floor.

The door was almost closed when a sound tore from Kevin's throat, low and moony:

"Wait." Sam turned impatiently, and he shuffled uncertainly. "How's your mom?"

Sam scowled and did slam the door in his face then, pulling the chain in the slot.

When she was inside her room, she flung the closet door open and threw off the blanket that was draped over the freezer.

Five minutes later had Sam against her bedroom door and half the ham in her stomach.

She wondered if she could risk taking another bite before deciding to slide to the floor in a never-satiated heap. Her hands were no longer shaking as much, and that was enough. Her head and tongue began to tingle, but not as strongly as before: it was like a tiny aftershock compared to the earth-shattering existence without ham.

The thought left her feeling as if dread had crawled up into her throat and died. She needed more ham.

There had to be something.

Wondering whether the petting zoo had pigs, the pudding-covered mess lying a foot away caught Sam's eye. She thought of dumping everything into the trash before noticing a paper on the top of the stack, a colorful logo in the corner.

_eBay._

It was Freddie's paper.

She plucked it from the pile and stared, wondering how she had managed to mix it up with her stuff. Listed was an odd assortment of useless items: a pair of pants made of mothballs, a 12 ft. bendy straw, a carton of milk which apparently had the lipstick of a cross-dressing monkey painted on the mouth—

A 16 pound ham wearing a top hat and monocle, cooked.

Sam felt her heart pound desperately in her chest. She remembered Carly's face going ashen when Freddie handed her the sheet of paper, and shot up from the ground, the blood rushing to her head making her stagger.

Sam raced to the computer, her urgency prevailing and almost making her lose her footing, but she also wanted to hit something. She was _angry._

They were best friends, and Carly should have trusted her, trusted her so she could have had that ham by now.

She stumbled over herself to find the listing before realizing her left hand was still clenched over the paper. Taking a shaky breath, she released it, realized just how lucky she had gotten.

_54 minutes left; no bids._

Sam felt as if a pink, large-snouted god had just smiled down on her.

Hands fumbling over the keys, Sam made a special request with the seller.

She would need another substitute for ham to hold her over for just a bit longer, and fortunately for Sam, she knew just the thing.

oOo

"Hey Gibby, c'mere."

Gibby, who had already been walking toward Sam, peered back over his shoulder and into an empty hall.

"Me?" he asked cautiously, jabbing himself uncertainly in the chest with his index finger.

"Gibby, Gibby," Sam said significantly, pushing off the locker she was leaning against and swinging her arms. "Is there anyone else you know who has a stupid name like Gibby?"

Gibby bristled, looking as if he wasn't sure whether to step forward or turn around and bolt. Sam sauntered slowly toward him, and, against good judgment, he went for the former.

"Were you the one who put in that anonymous comment in with Principal Franklin? Is that why every time he was about to see me, something went wrong? I told you I wouldn't be a victim," Gibby said, raising his meaty fist.

Sam shrugged, grinning wryly.

"You know a gib is castrated cat?"

Gibby's jaw dropped, a deep flush spreading up from his collar like billions of tiny rosebuds blooming behind his skin.

_"Um—_"

Sam lunged.

Taking Gibby roughly by the shirt collar, Sam pulled him against her, crushing his mouth with hers. Gibby stiffened, and Sam pushed forward to slam him hard into the nearby lockers. Their limbs tangled in his resistance, and the loud sound of his skull crashing against the blue-painted metal resonated through the halls.

She kissed him hard, and he gave a grunt of pain as she propped her hand against the cold locker and put all of her weight against him.

He was slack and sweaty, and it was more like kissing a wet fish than anything resembling ham, especially when he began to squirm against her, but she held him tighter, placing a leg between his to get closer and drawing his lower lip into her mouth, biting down until there was blood.

It was all wrong.

Sam shoved him away as the metallic taste slithered down her throat, and he hit the lockers hard.

Gibby stood there, wide-eyed and heaving. He flushed pink—like _salmon_—and Sam only tasted metal and remembered Carly talking about toxic fish, realizing she had made a grave mistake.

"I thought a heard a ruckus."

Sam turned to see Principal Franklin a few feet away, looking lost for words. When he saw her, he went open-mouthed in greeting.

Sam smiled beatifically and his expression shifted to horrified.

Nobody moved for a horrible moment before Sam reached up and roughly wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand.

"There's no ruckus to be heard here," Sam said. From the corner of her eye, she saw Gibby shaking his head fervently as he edged away.

There was a five second before Principal Franklin would snap out of his stupor, so Sam eased her backpack from the floor and slung it over one shoulder to make her exit.

She flounced off then, knowing her next meeting with Principal Franklin would be very uncomfortable. If she went.

oOo

Sam wasn't in school the next day.

Instead she walked the halls of her apartment like an intruder, running her hands over the papered walls and standing under the cold shower, once waking up where she didn't remember laying herself down.

If she kept moving, though, she didn't feel so out of it.

The time dragged through like something slouched and dying, and the only time she was really occupied was the time Carly called and Sam had picked up the phone but found nothing to say and broke out laughing.

The ham couldn't come too soon.

It was at the front desk as the early afternoon sun shrugged by the curtains in the bathroom; next-day shipping, just like the seller had promised. Only before she left any feedback, she would have to do some feeding herself.

Up in her bedroom, Sam tore the box with rabid desperation.

The ham stared back at her, its monocle winking jovially from over the stub where the bone had been cut away. It was a bronzed god of a Ham with rippling honey-gold ridges and a sturdy form.

Sam didn't see why everyone was so concerned. It made her sick. Why, even Freddie-–

_"If you love ham so much,"_ Freddie's lame comeback from a week ago coursed through her. _"Why don't you marry it?"_

Once every century, a Freddie had an idea that was pure gold.

There was one more ham left, probably in the entire world.

She had to do the right thing.

They had to repopulate the globe: Sam and Ham.

oOo

It was clear. The day, her mind. It was so clear she could solve differential equations. Not that she knew what differential equations were, but if someone had asked her to, she felt she could solve them.

The sun broke off from where it reflected off a window below her, all one bright and sparkling mess, and Sam put out a hand to try and catch it.

Her hair fell forward like ribbons, festively hovering over the concrete that felt miles away.

Ribbons were appropriate. There was going to be a wedding, after all.

Sam was on the roof, leaning forward against the ledge of the building where the frozen Ham rested beside her. Their arms brushed together in the very spirit of a shy but budding romance, and she shivered, her skin burning where they touched.

Her insides erupted with rapturous fluttering for it. It was a rapture that made her feel like she wanted to puke up her insides, but Sam wasn't going to be picky when everything was about to reach a dawn of perfection.

It was supposed to be terrifying, being up this high. Sam could feel something like tiny, nail-less fingers attempting to scratch a path down her back.

She and the Ham could both just drop, and there'd be no wedding, no more baby monocle-wearing Hams running around, no—

Really, it was far too cold for an outdoor wedding.

Sam's ears were ringing dully, making a sharp hitch every now and then that got louder and louder. It almost seemed to be framing hard sounds and prolonged sibilants, both sounding spoiled and ugly.

Then she realized what it was.

Sam turned on her heel, trying not to lose balance.

_"Sam."_

It was Carly, walking briskly in that way that meant Sam was going to get her hand bitten.

"Hey, sweat pea," Sam grinned.

Carly stopped suddenly, looking baffled. That is, until her eyes pierced the spot by Sam's elbow: then her face just looked to be carrying the burden several different unpleasant emotions at once. Sam could almost see the cogs working around an idea inside her head.

And that meant the sham had just come undone.

"What is that?" Carly asked quietly, after what seemed like minutes.

Sam looked over at her beloved, whose top hat had been sliding off its head, before dropping a hand she didn't even realize she'd been half-holding out toward Carly.

Sam looked back toward her, croaking, "Meatless, chicken-flavored ham?"

Realization flooded Carly's face, giving it the color and animation she lacked before.

"How?" she asked, a terse sound that was carried away by the wind. The next time she spoke, her voice ended on a shrill note. "How have you been getting that?"

Sam sidled closer to the Ham, protectively covering it with her arm, and she raised her chin defiantly. The wind was blowing the hair around Carly's face, thousands of reaching arms.

"I've got ways," Sam shrugged. The last time she spoke those words to Carly, it was worlds less painful.

_"Why?"_ Carly breathed harshly, sounding too much like Sam had betrayed _her._

Sam pulled the Ham against her ribcage; it made her entire side ache.

"I told you, didn't I?" Sam asked, feeling too much like a cornered mouse. "I'll always eat ham! Always! Don't you dare make me feel guilty, Carly Shay. Not when it's not about you. The other times I deserved it, but this time it's _not about you."_

"It doesn't have to be about me," Carly said, stepping the rest of the way forward. Sam took the Ham from the ledge and cradled it protectively. "You're sick, Sam. If you've been doing what I think you have, you need to go to a hospital."

Sam snorted. She was _fine._ More importantly, she was about to a _bride:_ a kick-ass bride who was on a covert mission to bring Ham back to rule the world. If Carly was against that: "I'm outta here," Sam said, making forward to brush past Carly. "This is getting way too intense for my comfort level."

Carly grabbed her forearm, twirling her around to face her, and Sam flinched. She looked down at Sam's arm and then back into her face, eyes wide. "You're burning up, Sam," she said quietly. Sam stayed impassive. "I'm not letting you go anywhere like this, and especially not with that thing. Give me that ham."

Sam wrenched her arm away vehemently and stepped back. "No. I think I'll hold onto it."

"Sam!" Carly screamed, sounding half indignant, half afraid. She grabbed at her again, this time taking both of her arms. Sam wrenched back, but Carly seemed stronger than usual, having no problem taking the Ham in her unappreciative grasp. They grappled and swatted at each other, their shoes making rough sounds on the concrete before Sam was able shove Carly backwards. She didn't wait to see the look of hurt and shock shaping Carly's face before she turned and made a run for the door to get back into the building.

Carly, though, always seemed to be able to outdo her. Sam's head was jerked back as Carly grabbed her hair, muttering a breathless, "Sorry, but you're kinda outta your mind."

Sam spun and thrashed against Carly's relentless grip to dislodge herself, and Carly took her chance to get a hold of the Ham, but Sam held tight. She collected ice and the flesh of an undoubtedly traumatized Ham under her fingernails as they fought for it before she was jostled, and her forehead knocked painfully against Carly's.

Sam tripped as Carly grabbed Sam by the sleeve, and the Ham was somehow flung loose, leaving her palms numb and thrumming with pinpricks of cold.

She saw the Ham catch the sunlight as it soared through the air, monocle glistening imploringly as it went over the ledge of her building.

Sam yelled something that scraped painfully across her throat as she clambered up, her heart springing to her throat, and she ran to where the Ham went over.

Only before she could reach it, Carly tackled her.

Sam hit the ground hard, banging her head and snapping her jaw against itself as she twisted herself around. She breathed heavily and saw stars as her hearing rang in and out, bleeding out into the blue of the sky so it was singing.

Something heavy pressed down on her lungs—Carly probably—who was holding on too tight. Sam didn't think she would be able to get up anyway.

She heard the words "You're warm," sounding broken and unfamiliar until she realized the words had come from her own mouth.

Breath came hot and heavy against her ear before Carly's words spread out over her in warm bursts. "Don't you dare try and go after it, Sam Puckett." Her neck was suddenly wet and everything swirled like a glittering liquid making tiny whirlpools above them. They were under water. Sam closed her eyes.

"You don't need the ham, Sam, but I still need you."

She felt Carly's arm press into her, and her breathing finally evened, but when Sam tried to speak, she couldn't anyway, because Carly's hair had fallen over Sam's mouth, and so she just held on tight.

oOo

She woke up beneath a perforated sky, bleached white, and felt like needles had been threaded out through her scalp.

Before she could evaluate anything beyond the sound of a few steady beeps, Carly appeared.

_"Sam,"_ was all she said, leaning nervously over her. Sam blinked up at her, and Freddie came to hover at Carly's shoulder. "We were so worried!"

"Yeah, Sam," he agreed anxiously. "Are you alright?" A pause. _"Why won't she say anything?"_

Sam registered a throbbing pain in her head and mustered a scowl. "Whoever asks me something like that again is gunna get my fist introduced to his face," she groaned pointedly.

She saw him smile before she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.

"She's OK."

Barely. The room and its contents were running together like a sopping canvas of water colors.

"Course," she said. "What up?"

Carly pursed her lips. "Well. You'd eaten so much of the bad ham," Carly unloaded slowly. "It was destroying you from the inside. They weren't sure for awhile what—" She shook something off, getting angry for a moment. "Sam, you could've _died."_

"I had to, or else I'd have to live off Gibby," Sam said sourly. There was something clamped onto her pointer finger, and she ran her thumb over the plastic surface. At least she wasn't paralyzed.

"OK, she's lost it," Freddie said, stepping further back.

"Lose yourself," Sam retorted, making it all sharp edges before realizing it wasn't right at all. She turned to Carly. "I made out with Gibby," Sam murmured, tugging on her sleeve.

"What are you talking about, Sam?" Carly asked as Freddie said, "Should we get a nurse or something?" and Carly did something that made Freddie quickly leave the room.

Sam let herself fall further, keeping the edge of Carly's sleeve balled up in her fist.

Carly was saying something, but Sam cut her off.

"I thought it was love," Sam sighed, closing her eyes.

There was a silence, and then: "What? You and _Gibby?"_

"No," Sam said, turning her face away and becoming lost. "Me and ham."

oOo

Carly liked to save things.

Sam remembered when they were ten, and Carly found a tiny bird with a broken wing and kept it in an old hamster cage as she tried to nurse it back to health.

She remembered Carly's broken face when she'd found it crumbled and stiff at the bottom of that cage. She remembered how they'd had to go bury it in the park. Sam didn't really get it, but Carly was upset, so she went anyway. Of course she did: Carly was her best friend.

This idea must have come from the same part of her brain, even if it wasn't so conventional.

As it turned out, Carly had somehow gotten the ham that had fallen from the top of Sam's building and saved it in a trash bag—the thick, black kind—so they could let the ham, and Sam kind of thought what Carly was calling _The Addiction,_ rest in peace.

When Sam had asked how she'd gotten it back, Carly had plastered on her most mischievous grin, saying, "You're not the only one who has ways," and then, "Actually, it had fallen into that giant planter outside the lobby, and there was a pretty big crowd, but I was able to grab it and run before the fire department showed up." because she couldn't help but spill the beans.

Carly was one awesome friend.

"Freddie kind of wanted to broadcast this, but. _Well."_

They both peered down at the hole Carly had dug in the same secluded area of the park where they had buried the bird. Carly toed the dirt experimentally, scanning the area.

Really, they could probably get into trouble for something like this.

Sam's mouth quirked up; the twist had become so unfamiliar the past couple of weeks. She looked over at Carly, who was squinting down at the hole in concentration.

"You sure know how to do a ham justice, kid."

"Well, it was illegal and all, so it might not have been the best idea to leave it with all your fingerprints all over it anyway." Carly looked back over at her. "Do you want to…ya know?"

"I always wanna _ya know,"_ Sam said, doing a jerky little dance for 'ya know,' and Carly smiled, handing her the black bag.

"If you take off with that—" she warned, but Sam shrugged it off. She didn't need it.

A semi-conscious week in the hospital for what her doctor called a real first in his 30-year career was enough to get Sam off of ham for a while. Well, dangerously contaminated ham anyway.

The detox probably didn't hurt this resolve much either.

"Save your breath," Sam said. She looked down at the bag before she turned it over, and the ham hit the bottom of the pit with a muffled thud, cracked monocle glinting piteously up at her. Carly said it had lost its hat in the struggle, and Sam could only hope there was a pigeon out there somewhere with a natty sense of style to pick it up.

They looked at it gravely for a moment more before glancing at each other. "Would you like to say a few words for the ham?" Carly asked.

Sam looked back at it. It had been frozen and was white with caked ice around the surface. She remembered the sharp cold and grimaced.

"Good luck, ham, wherever you're going yada yada I hope it's not to be reincarnated as a piece of another animal so I'll have to eat you again." Then she spit into the grass.

Carly got all scrunched up and raised her eyebrows playfully before muttering, "Charming." She grabbed a shovel propped up against a tree and began what was more flicking dirt over the ham than looking like she was working really hard. "I was just going to say," she said, bringing the shovel down hard. "I hate you. I do hope you go to the bad place."

Sam grinned at her. "That works."

Sam watched Carly shovel the rest of the dirt into the hole and pack it down. When she stepped back, Sam threw an arm around her, tugging her away from the burial site.

Carly's squeezed her against her side, a hand curled into the fabric of Sam's sweater before she let go.

Carly seemed bouncier as they walked back toward Carly's apartment. She was bouncing again.

oOo

"You know, I bet iCarly's viewer ratings will go up again once people know you're back on the show," Carly announced once they turned the street corner.

"Ugh, did I hurt it?" Sam asked.

Something smelled sweet and enticing in the air, and Sam would have maybe thought it was a newfound thirst for life if she were Freddie and they weren't nearing the supermarket.

Carly grinned playfully. "Nah, we're only still the most popular webcast among our peers."

Just as Carly was about to reach the spot she had insisted on crossing at since they were eleven, the two walked by a semi-trailer truck parked outside of a Colby's Supermarket. It smelled like—

"What's that you're unloading?" Sam asked, halting at the rear of the truck and dropping her arm from where it was still lazily slung around Carly. A man on a ramp looked up from a few crates he had stacked on a dolly.

"Ham," he said simply. And then, when they just stared: "Pickled pork hooves, bacon, pork chops, pork rinds, deli sliced ham—you name anything you can get off the pig, and we're delivering it."

Sam's mouth watered at the thought of a ham delivery vehicle and looked over toward Carly, the proximity of her face more suited for getting hair in her mouth than a peek of her reaction.

"Should I be concerned about you detecting the scent of raw meat in the air?" Carly asked in wonder.

Sam just shrugged, trying to veil a smirk. "Look," she said, kicking at the sidewalk and beginning to pull toward the store. "You've been a great help and all—"

Carly rolled her eyes, pulling away from Sam herself. She accidentally got her rings caught in Sam's hair and the metal brushed across Sam's cheek. "Just go get your ham," she smiled, though it sounded a bit sad.

"It's safe, right?" Sam shouted toward the man with the crates, who was now nearly to his location. She wasn't entirely unshaken when it came to ham, but she still liked to think she was asking more for Carly's sake.

"Wouldn't have it here if it weren't."

_Finally._

Sam twisted around and began to flounce off before feeling compelled to do something else. She turned around before grabbing Carly by the wrist and pulling her forward.

"Come on, kid," she said, dragging Carly toward the door. "We're gunna do this ham thing together this time."

"If you mean become freakishly addicted to contaminated meat that acts as poison and breaks down your immune system—"

"Come on. You make it sound like it wasn't fun."

Carly looked stern for a moment before erupting. "I really shouldn't. I told Freddie we'd be back early to sort of celebrate you not dying with balloons and smoothies and throwing heavy things at glass," she said rapidly, her voice sounding like quicksilver.

"It's no celebration without the ham," Sam coaxed. "And if Fredward can futilely wait for you to return his affection for a hundred years, he can wait a few minutes for us to buy some ham."

She meant it, too. Sam hadn't been all that ungrateful to see Freddie at the hospital. At least she had something there to laugh at.

Carly bit her lip before relenting. "Oh, OK! Let's ham it up all over town!"

Sam laughed low in her throat, as they turned toward the supermarket.

The employees had already begun to restock the meat aisles, and everything was all bright white lights and fresh blood, making Sam think of Christmas and peppermints.

It didn't take long to find what they were looking for. Sam approached slowly, her breath catching. Maybe things would actually be better than before.

"I know we've had our differences," Sam spoke softly, peering at a particularly large ham. Carly eyed the meat suspiciously from beside her as Sam took a step forward. "But I'd like to think we can work them out." The refrigerator buzzed; the ham hammed. "What I'm saying is this." A beat. "I forgive you." Sam grinned deviously, taking the last step forward.

Finally, nothing between them but that old flame.

"Ham," Sam declared, leaning far into the long, low freezer. "I'd be honored to eat you again."

* * *

Thanks for reading, everyone!


End file.
